Pasta and Meatballs
by purplepeony
Summary: House, waiting for the bus in the snow.


**Title:** Pasta and Meatballs  
**Author:** Cschick  
**Rating:** K

Story is complete onto itself; one-shot.

**Author's note:** This is a fairly random little piece of fiction. I've not been reading or viewing most spoilers related to next season, but I spotted something on a FOX preview that made it appear that perhaps House has a seizure of some form during the time he's in the mental hospital. Since I've known several people in recent years who have suddenly/unexpected had seizures, it made me think about the driving restrictions they often must follow for 6 months or a year afterward (in some states, it's not legal for you to drive for a period of months after a seizure/until you receive medical clearance). So, this is where my brain went from there.

* * *

He limped through the automatic doors, to find a dim world buried under a sky of heavy clouds. A few snowflakes skittered by on the steady wind, their nervous actions forecasting both a windy and snowy night.

It was only five o'clock, but the early winter sun was already setting and obscured behind the gray clouds. He limped past the handicap parking spot which had once been his, slowly finding his way to the bus stop almost a block away, and sat himself on the cold bench. Sitting still, the wind felt even colder, as it poked through the wooden slats of the bench, cut through his thin coat like it was barely there. He leaned his cane against the bench next to him, crossed his arms across his chest, and huddled within himself, trying to distance himself from the weather. The bus was scheduled to arrive in the next five minutes--and if it arrived in the next fifteen, it would be a good day.

He knew they were all just protecting him, following both medical recommendation and the law, but they didn't have to sit on this cold bench several afternoons a week and wait on the unreliable transportation system. Wilson often gave him a ride, but their schedules and their plans did not match up every day. One day he would receive his clearance to drive again, but that thought didn't do anything against the cold today.

Today just reminded him of another coming level of misery--a New England winter. While fall had been often wet and chilly and he'd sat here trying to ignore the drizzle falling on his hat and coat, the wet leaves dragging themselves around his feet on a sullen wind, today just promised worse to come. Twenty-five degrees with a cutting wind and a few snowflakes was only the start.

He tried to turn his mind away from the weather, to dwell on the case his team was still pounding away at inside the hospital walls. Nobody had come up with a reasonable explanation yet, nobody had come up with a reasonable plan of treatment. Or, at least, every suggestion and every plan of treatment felt wrong to him on that deep level he had long ago learned to listen to. He turned his attention to his mental white board, turned his mind to wandering down logical paths composed of symptoms, leading to diseases.

He was so focused on trying to think, so focused on ignoring the weather, that he didn't notice the gentle purr of a car pulling up at the curb beside him. Didn't register when the driver got out of the car and quietly sat down on the bench beside him. All he was listening for was the annoying squeal of the bus brakes, the rubber rumble its wheels made as it lumbered to a stop at the curb.

Only the gloved hand touching the knee of his good leg pulled him back into reality with a start. "Where's Wilson?" she asked quietly.

Cuddy was better dressed for the weather than he, looking the complete professional in her tailored wool coat, her knit hat, her dark gloves. A few snowflakes had already caught in her curls, making him realize that the snowflakes had started falling faster and more furiously in the few minutes since he had sat down. They were no longer the few and the uncertain, but a drifting white haze in the glare of the street lamps and headlights of cars.

"He went to visit his brother this afternoon. His usual schedule." He shrugged.

"You know that you can always ask me for a ride."

He shrugged. And he knew that he would never ask her for a ride. While they both pretended that their relationship was the same it had been for the previous decade, there was now an underlying discomfort that both refused to talk about. The old House might have considered asking her for a ride, especially on a day when he knew it would inconvenience or annoy her. The current House would never ask her for a ride.

"I enjoy freezing my ass off out here." He remarked, staring down the street in the direction the bus should be arriving from. Nothing but the headlights of sedans, suvs and minivans looked back.

She sighed. "And the cold gets into your leg, causing further pain."

"You've never concerned yourself about it before."

"Get in the car, House." She stood back up, directing her best schoolmarm glare in his direction. "There's no use in either of us sitting around here, freezing our asses off."

"Yours is better padded. Mine would freeze first."

"I guess that makes me fortunate. Well-designed for winter."

"The bus should be here any minute." He once again looked down the street, hoping to see his rescue arriving.

"Then you have a 30 minute ride on a badly-heated tin can, and the walk from the stop to your door . . . you know, you could at least call and schedule a handicap transport."

"Not worth it."

"I'm offering you door-to-door service here."

"Bench-to-door."

"Get in the car, House."

His leg muscle tightened in protest against the cold, spending a twinge up into his hip. He winced, and she saw. She offered him her hand, and he slowly got back to his feet, then she handed him his cane.

The passenger door of her car was already unlocked, as though she knew in advance that she would win the argument. He settled into the warm softness of her passenger's seat, his eyes glancing over the quiet luxury that was exactly her style, as she hurried around to the driver's door and got in.

Just as she put the car into gear, the deep horn of the bus sounded from behind, as the driver tried to pull up to the stop and found a car parked in the bus lane. A few minutes too late, and he cursed the driver silently.

She pulled gracefully away from the curb, and drove up to the next corner. Turn one way, and head to his townhouse, turn the other and head to her house. She hesitated, directly in the center of the two lanes, and commented, "I have pasta and meatballs waiting me at home--my nanny is a good cook. And she always makes far more than what she, I, and a one-year-old are able to eat."

"Then you better hurry up and get me home," he said, ignoring the implicit offer in the second half of her statement.

"Do you want some dinner?" she asked calmly.

After his sideways refusal, he really hadn't expected her to push the question. That had been part of the skittishness of their relationship for months--no, for years--both of them refusing to hear what the other couldn't say plainly. Now he wasn't sure how exactly to answer.

"Umm, sure," he stammered.

She quickly turned left, taking away the possibility for him to change his mind. He stared out the window at the falling snow, now starting to blanket the bushes, trees and sidewalk with a lacy layer of white, and wondered what he had gotten himself into.


End file.
